


Olympic Tryouts (part 4)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 4)

**Author's Note:**

> paaaart 4, y’all. sorry it ends sort of abruptly, i’m on my way out of the office early today and am leaving town for the night but figured something is better than nothing.

Coach Taylor calls Santana into his office before she has the chance to sneak out of the rink.

“Lopez, a word please,” he gruffs through the open door to the office, pulling his reading glasses off his nose and dropping the papers he was thumbing through.

“Look, Coach,” Santana starts, shuffling in quickly and shutting the door quietly behind her, dropping her bag at her feet. She sits across the desk from him, nervously working her hands together in her lap, pulling at her fingers one by one and trying to figure out how best to explain herself. “I’m sorry about…”

“I’m doing the talking here,” he interrupts roughly. He doesn’t _look_ angry about earlier, but Coach Taylor has an air of icy disconnection when it comes to showing emotion that scares Santana.

“Look, you’re one of the best players here. I know it, you know it, and every other girl out there on the ice and in that locker room knows it too. From what I’ve seen, you’ve got a hell of a temper, but you’ve also got intangibles that every coach loves in a player. From what your college coach has said, you’ve got a head on those shoulders, a strong hockey sense and awareness on the ice and you’ve got leadership skills, although I haven’t seen those yet.”

“Thank you, Coach,” Santana mumbles, alternating between looking up at him and down at her lap, where her fingers now pick at the skin around her nails. Santana has never been good at taking compliments, even if they are deserved.

“You’re throwing it away,” he said poignantly, “and from what I hear, that wasn’t the first incident with Pierce.” Santana makes eye contact and shakes her head slowly back and forth. She opens her mouth to respond, but Coach Taylor holds up a finger to silence her. “Don’t think I haven’t watched the film from last year’s National Championship, or that I don’t get it, because I’ve been involved in this sport a long time. You know as well as I do that this is a game of inches and things can turn in a second. You have to put it behind you. Starting today, you better change your attitude or you’ll be watching this team play next February sitting on your mother’s couch at home. I brought you here for a reason, Lopez, and I’d like to keep you here, but you sure as hell ‘aint making it easy.” Santana is quiet, but nods her head in silent agreement. “And whether you like it or not, Brittany Pierce deserves a spot on this team just as much as you do, so you two better start playing nice. I don’t want to have to talk to you again,” he finishes, picking up his glasses once more and perching them on the bridge of his nose.

“Understood, Coach,” Santana asserts, reaching down to grab her bag and moving towards the door. As she pushes it open, she turns back. “All I’ve ever wanted was to play on this team,” she states, pausing as he looks up again. “See you tomorrow, Coach.”

_____

When Santana gets back to her room, it’s empty, although the bag in the corner and clothes strewn on the bed indicate that Brittany had been there, she’s nowhere to be found now. Santana can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed.

_____

Santana sits with Mercedes and Quinn at their same table during dinner, finding herself subconsciously flicking her eyes across the room at the back of a blonde head every few minutes before looking down again at her plate.

_____

It’s Rachel Berry’s idea for everyone to go out later that night to unwind over a few drinks at the bar down the street from the dorm. Although Santana is exhausted from the first day of double sessions, she can’t turn down Quinn’s pout or shake the feeling of how good a cold, frothy beer sounded, so she follows the crowd of players down the staircase and into the night.

The local dive, the Hut, is tiny and dirty, the ceiling covered with tacked up dollar bills covered in permanent marker and business cards. Apparently it was a right of passage for recent college graduates to pin their first business card to the ceiling along with a tip. The lights are low and the bar itself relatively empty, it was Monday after all, and Santana finds herself ordering drinks while Quinn finds them a seat.

Santana lets her eyes wander while she waits, taking in the Rockies game on TV, the ping pong table and pinball machine in the back corner when suddenly she feels someone step up to occupy the spot at the bar beside her, sweatshirt brushing her bare arm.

“Coach brought me into his office today,” Brittany states, squinting forward at the beer specials chalked up on a board behind the bar.

“Same,” Santana answers, looking sideways at Brittany who is now on her tiptoes and leaning far over the bar. Brittany says nothing more. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get the bartender’s attention, obviously,” she says slyly, lopping her head sideways to grin in Santana’s direction. That disarming feeling charges back and slips all along Santana’s limbs when blue eyes meet brown.

“Guess we have to play nice,” Santana relents, breaking eye contact and staring listlessly forward. Brittany doesn’t answer, but Santana thinks she hears a quiet hum come from deep in Brittany’s throat.

“What’ll ya have?” the bartender asks, wiping his hands on a bar towel and staring at you expectantly.

“Pitcher of Coors and whatever she’s having,” Santana requests, cocking her head towards Brittany.

“Jack on the rocks.”

Santana can’t help the scoff and the “figures,” that mumbles from her lips, but Brittany just grins.

“What? Not man enough for some whiskey, Lopez? Should I get you a straw for that beer?” Brittany jests, throwing a playful but sharp elbow into Santana’s arm.

“Just going easy on night number one.” It sounds more defensive than she intends.

“Whatever you say, ho,” Brittany sing-songs, before thanking her quickly, grabbing the drink and disappearing out the back door.

_____

Santana finds herself sitting outside in the crisp night air at a picnic table with Quinn, Mercedes, Rachel and two girls you remember from tryouts but can’t put a finger on their names. They’re talking about some movie that just came out but Santana finds her mind in the clouds and gaze wandering around the back patio.

This time Santana has a clear line to Brittany’s face, eyes settling on her and tracing her features carefully. Again, Brittany catches her quickly, lip turning up into a smirk and eyebrow cocking up in mock surprise that once again she found Santana staring. Brittany nods her heads toward the door back into the bar and mouths ‘another?’. Santana nods and pushes herself up. She doesn’t miss Quinn’s skeptical gaze at seeing her follow Brittany inside.


End file.
